Steve Rogers, Nurse McSexy
by Wordsplat
Summary: Tony does not handle his morphine well, and Steve has been pining way too long for this shit. Oneshot, TonyxSteve


Steve was on the brink of sleep when Tony finally came to.

Nearly a week ago now, Tony had quite literally taken a train to the chest, flying in front of it and digging his feet in to bring it to a stop before it fell through the gaping hole in the heightened track. Their match with the Wrecking Crew had, predictably, wrecked it, mere seconds before the train had come speeding around the corner, and Tony had saved hundreds of lives with his clever thinking and quick response time.

Steve wanted to feel angry with him, taking such a huge risk, but how could he? Sure, Steve hadn't made the call and Tony hadn't asked him, but there hadn't been time and even now Steve couldn't think of another viable solution. Tony had saved so many lives, had so clearly done the right thing, and Steve couldn't be angry with him for it. Not when he'd do the exact same thing. Tony hadn't been reckless this time, hadn't been wildly irresponsible or out of line. He'd just been a hero.

And that, Steve thought, made this so much harder.

When Tony was reckless, Steve could bottle up his fear and label it anger, could say his worry was simply frustration. He had a reason to wait by Tony's bedside, then—_I'm waiting to chew him out royally for that dumbass stunt of his, _he could tell whoever asked, _I swear, he's really gonna regret this one_. If someone asked him why he was waiting around this time…he wouldn't know what to say. But then, he got the feeling the others had always found his excuses rather transparent anyway.

He should leave. He knew Tony had been unconscious for almost a week and showed no signs of waking, knew that even if he did he'd be on enough painkillers to make an elephant loopy, but Steve couldn't quite bring himself to move. It would feel wrong, being anywhere but here. He dozed a bit here and there but didn't really sleep—no matter how often Tony got himself thrown in the hospital, Steve never got used to these damn plastic chairs—and picked at some of the food the other Avengers brought when they visited, but didn't really eat. He didn't need to, not really; he could go weeks like this without even feeling uncomfortable, and frankly, he wasn't in the mood.

So he sat by Tony's side and wondered how he was going to explain his presence when Tony woke up. He was worried about him? He couldn't so much as eat or sleep if Tony wasn't awake and healthy and snarking at him like usual? He was excruciatingly love with him and watching him get hit by a train was more painful than if Steve had just been hit by the train himself? The words to vocalize how he felt swirled in Steve's head, whispered themselves in his ear, and he dismissed them. Then, upon second thought, he rephrased them.

_I couldn't go anywhere else if I wanted to _became _just thought I'd keep you company; I love you, how could I leave? _became _you're my best friend, sure I'd stay._

Then Tony woke up, and everything flew out the window.

Steve saw his eyes flicker open groggily and he shot forward with a start, any of his own drowsiness gone in a jolt. All of Steve's nerves, his worries, his exhaustion, drained out as Tony's eyes caught on him. Tony was going to be okay. Steve slumped forward over the hospital bed, took Tony's hand and gripped it tight. So long as Tony was okay, anything else was manageable.

"Whoa…did the doctor send you?"

Oh, God. No.

"Tony." Steve was clutching his hand a little tighter than was likely strictly comfortable, but he hoped he could be forgiven in lieu of the icy fear curling in his chest. "Tony, it's Steve. Steve Rogers, do you remember me?"

"Ohhh." Tony nodded in understanding, his head lolling just a bit. "You're Steeeeeve."

"Yes, Tony." He couldn't help the breathless, relieved laugh that spilled out. "I'm Steve."

He'd forgotten about the drugs; the doctors had said when Tony woke up he'd be, well, 'stoned out of his mind' had been how they'd phrased it. Steve didn't care. The idea that Tony could've forgotten him hadn't even crossed his mind, and struck him like a slap.

"You're fuckin' gorgeous, Steeeeeve. Anyone tell you that? _Gorgeous. _S'how's the diagn'sis look, Nurse McSexy?"

"What?" Steve blinked, taken aback. "I, uh. I'm not—I mean, thank you, I think, but I'm not a nurse, Tony."

Tony had complimented him before. This was _Tony, _he flirted like he breathed, and it wasn't as if he'd never aimed it in Steve's direction before. He'd had just never been quite so…candid about it.

"Model then. Y'gotta be a model."

"No, I—Tony, I'm not a model, I'm your partner."

"I landed _you?" _Tony tried to sit up and failed, making a flailing motion before giving in to lie back down and gape at Steve incredulously. "Well, _shit! _I'm fucky as luck."

Steve had meant _battle_ partner, like teammate, but it had clearly not been the best choice of words. He scrambled for something to distract Tony with; surely the drugs would make that simple enough.

"No, we're not like that. Uh, here." Steve grabbed the crackers Natasha had left him off the bedside table. "Eat something. You're still pretty out of it, food might help."

"Have we kissed yet? I wanna kiss, gimme a kiss—" Tony tried to sit up again, reaching for Steve and attempting to loop an arm around his neck. He lolled a bit, flailing ridiculously and not getting anywhere near Steve's mouth. Steve wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

"Tony, really, I—you don't—" Steve fumbled with his words, not quite sure how to explain that when Tony wasn't high on pain medication, he wasn't interested in him that way.

"C'mon baby, I just wanna kiss…d'we call each other baby?"

"We definitely don't." Steve politely left out the fact that he definitely liked it.

"Can I start? I'ma start."

"How about you eat something—" Steve attempted valiantly to distract him again.

"How'd I get _you_, anyway? Was I romantic, baby, babe, darlin'? I better'a been romantic, y'totally deserve romantic. Course y'do, you're the apple'a my eye, the light'a m'life—"

"You didn't—I mean, we're not—" Steve tried, before giving up and settling on a heavy sigh because Tony was still babbling anyway, ignoring what Steve was saying completely to make grabby hands at his face.

"God, honey, your teeth are peeerfect. Have I toldja that b'fore?"

"No, I don't think—"

"Cause they are, snookums. They're like, white. And super straight. Straighter'n you are, I guess."

Tony giggled then, a strangely adorable noise Steve had never heard from Tony before in all his life. The ache he'd been trying his best to clamp down on ripped through him viciously; what he wouldn't give to hear that sound when Tony wasn't so high he didn't know Steve from a pretty nurse.

"Well." Steve rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "I suppose. I mean, I'm bi. So."

"I thought you were Steeeeeve, my sweetiepie, my b'loved, my—?"

"Just Steve," Steve interrupted quickly, "And I meant bi as in bisexual."

"But now you're Tonys'xual?"

"I don't think that's how it works," Steve answered instead of saying yes or no, because frankly, these days it might as well be true.

"Y'should be. Don' worry, I 'cept you as you are, honeybun, angelface, cutiepi—"

"Okay, Tony." Steve played along. "I'll be Tonysexual if you'll eat some crackers, okay?"

"Nope, never mind, I heard nothing." Steve turned to see Clint, having just walked in, throw his hands up, turn on his heel, and walk right out. He poked his head back in not a second later to advise, "Also, don't fuck in the hospital bed, you'll get the clap."

Tony clapped. Steve buried his face in his hands. Clint disappeared again. Steve's hidden face happened to near Tony's elbow, and he felt Tony shift a moment before crouching forward enough to grab Steve's head in both hands and press a sloppy kiss into his hair.

"Love you. D'I ever tell y'that?"

"I—wait—what?" Steve disentangled himself, sitting back up to examine Tony with wide eyes.

"Di'nt I ever tell you?" Tony just blinked back at him with innocent, near child-like confusion, like he hadn't just said the words Steve had tried to remind himself so many times he'd never hear from the man. Tony, unaware of Steve's hope and awe, yawned once before continuing easily, comfortably, like he was chatting about the weather. "Mighta been'a secret. Oops. Loved y'since…dunno since. Always? Def'nitely always."

Steve didn't know where to even begin to form a response, which seemed to be fine since Tony was yawning again.

"Think 'm gonna sleep," he decided drowsily, reaching out to take Steve's hand, "But you're gonna stay, right baby?"

He was going to hell for abusing this, but Steve curled his fingers around Tony's in return, gave a gentle squeeze.

"I'm not going anywhere, baby."

His reward was a soft, sleep-lazy smile, which, while beautiful in every way and something Steve very much enjoyed, did absolutely nothing for the confusion pounding so loudly in his head he might as well be harboring a marching band up there. He leaned forward, burying his face against Tony's side again while he tried to make sense of the situation.

Could Tony have meant it? Why would he have said it, if he hadn't? It was one thing to have far too many drugs in his system and babble about finding Steve attractive—Steve wasn't particularly egotistical, but he was aware most people found him at least fairly attractive—that wouldn't need to mean anything. Tony could find him attractive without having any intentions towards him. Saying he loved him though, that he'd alwaysloved him? Steve didn't know what to do with that. He didn't want to just assume Tony meant it, but…he couldn't quite keep down the swell of hope, either.

He pressed the call button to get Tony's doctor in here, let her know Tony had woken up. She told him Tony was going to be just fine, that he'd been healing nicely and if he was having periods of awareness it was time to wean him off the drugs. She said she'd start the process, but it'd be another day or two before he became completely conscious.

Certain that Tony wouldn't be up again soon, Steve felt comfortable enough to take a nap. He hadn't had a full night's sleep at least 72 hours, and though he could function on much, much less than that, he was still beginning to feel it. When he woke, he gave Natasha a call to let her and the others know how Tony was doing. She seemed pleased enough to hear Tony would be alright, but mysteriously and firmly declined his offer to come join him at the hospital.

Odd. He was admittedly the only one who kept watch over Tony like this—since he wasn't in critical condition or any sort of danger—but it was odd that she wouldn't come to see him wake up, and odder still that she went ahead and declined on the other's behalf as well. Steve didn't piece it together until he gave Miss Potts a call. After she thanked him for calling, he asked when she thought she'd be there. She laughed.

"You're sweet, Steve, but I think it's better if I wait to visit until after you two have sorted out your, ah, 'Tonysexuality', was it?"

He groaned, finally getting it. "Should've known Clint wouldn't keep his mouth shut."

"The story evolves every time he tells it, too." Steve could hear the amused smile in her voice. "Natasha heard it first so I think her version might be most accurate, but the one I heard him telling Happy involved an orgy."

"When this is over, he'll be doing drills until he passes out," Steve grumbled.

"He's just congratulating you in his own way, that's all."

"Congratulations aren't exactly in order yet," Steve admitted, "With a little luck, maybe."

"If you think you need luck, you're as hopeless as Tony." She laughed. "Have him give me a call when you're through, alright?"

"I—" Steve started to ask what she meant by that, but planned on finding out for himself soon enough. "Sure. Will do."

"Thank you, Steve," Pepper said in amusement, hanging up.

Well. It sounded like a good sign, right? Pepper was one of Tony's closest friends. If anyone knew Tony's feelings on the matter of Steve or anyone else, it would be Pepper. Her comments fed his already greedy hope, so he tried to put it out of his mind. He gave a heavy sigh, picking up where he'd left off on the stack of books by Tony's bedside. He was more than used to spending time in hospital rooms, not comfortable leaving Tony alone but still quite bored being the only conscious person in the room. He wasn't sure when he fell asleep again, but he knew that when he woke up, he had an open book on his chest and a pair of tired eyes watching him with an amused smile.

"Tony!" Steve startled, sitting up with a jolt. He fumbled with the book, dog-earing his page before setting it aside, much to Tony's displeasure.

"You're not supposed to dog-ear books, I have _given _you bookmarks, how many bookmarks have I given you—"

"Hundreds, how are you feeling?"

"_Hundreds _seems like an exaggeration—"

"It's most certainly not an exaggeration and you're not half as good at distracting me as you think you are, I asked you how you're feeling and I'd like an answer."

"I'm fine, mom." Tony waved an IV-lined wrist at him. "Poked and prodded and sore as hell, but hey, hit by a train, so. Alive is a nice condition to find myself in."

"It certainly is." Steve fought the impulse to take Tony's hand. Tony, clearly seeing something in the look on Steve's face, gave an impatient huff and sat up a bit to face Steve more properly.

"Alright. Lay it on me."

"Lay…what, exactly?"

The first thing that came to mind was a kiss; Tony _had _asked for one while drugged up, and it would be just like him to wake up and simply demand one, problem solved. But, of course, Steve wasn't quite that lucky.

"C'mon, let's hear it. Was I reckless this time, or just bullheaded?"

"What?" Steve frowned at that, leaning forward. "No, Tony, you were a hero. You _are _a hero."

"Wow, that train must've knocked me right into another dimension," Tony mused, sitting up gingerly with a hint of a grin, "I like this you. Less yell-y."

"Like me, huh?" Steve asked before he could think better of it, figuring the joke may be awkward and not entirely situation-appropriate, but at least it would bring the subject up, "And here I thought you loved me."

Tony froze completely, head to toe in such a perfect full body freeze Steve almost wondered if Tony was having some sort of seizure. Then he blinked once, the look on his face devastated for the briefest of moments before he schooled it away into something unreadable.

"Not a dream, then." Tony pursed his lips.

"No."

Tony didn't say anything. Steve waited. When Tony let the silence continue pointedly, Steve let out a small sigh.

"I'd like to talk about it."

"I'd like to take another train to the face instead, if that's alright by you."

"Tony." Steve winced because, well, _ouch, _damn it. "I understand you were out of it. I'm just asking if there's any sort of basis to what you were—"

"I feel the need to point out that I was incredibly stoned—"

"I understand that—"

"—and should not be held accountable for—"

"I'm not holding you accountable for anything." Steve cut him off again, more firmly this time. "I'm not…_expecting _anything, I know you were exaggerating. I'm just asking because if there's even a hint of truth to it, I'd like to know."

Tony drew in a long, thoughtful breath. Let it out slowly. Pursed his lips. Examined the door of the room like he was considering yanking out the IVs and just breaking for it. Steve tried his best not to look at hurt as he felt. It was one thing to think he'd simply never have what he wanted; he understood that. He could _deal _with that.

When he'd wanted nothing more in than world than to go home, back to his time, he'd known it was something he couldn't have. It had taken time, but he'd worked through it. He had a life here now, a life he enjoyed and wouldn't trade. He had the strength to protect the people who needed it, friends so close-knit they were more family than anything else, and he had Tony. Maybe not the way he wanted him, but they were damn good friends, the best, and Steve had never been stupid enough to mess with that. He was honestly, genuinely _happy _as he was. This life was more than enough for him, and the universe at large sure didn't owe him any more favors.

And Tony…Tony was just so wonderfully _much. _He was complex, magnetic, drawing Steve to him even back when all he did was snap and shove Steve away again. Even when they'd still been figuring out a common ground, Steve had wanted to understand him, get a feel for the jagged edges of his personality he wore like a second set of armor. Steve understood that about Tony; he had his own. Over the years, they'd peeled back bits and pieces of each others armor, learned each others edges and how maneuver around them, how to put pressure on them when necessary.

Tony inspired him to be better, but didn't ask it of him. When Steve got low, Tony never told him what he had to do. He never reminded Steve people were counting on him, that his country or his friends or whoever else needed him to snap out of it. He just sat with him, talked with him, listened to him. Over the years, Tony had listened to every rambling story Steve could possibly remember about growing up, about the war, about the people he'd lost. Just having someone else know made Steve feel lighter, like he'd unloaded a bit of the stories' weight by sharing them. Tony knew him better than anyone; Steve couldn't lose him, refused to. Not over this.

"I get it," Steve told him at last, "It's fine. We can forget about it."

"Can we?" Tony murmured. He turned, speaking again not with a murmur but a direct, hard question. "Can you?"

If that wasn't just a punch to the gut. Tony knew, then. Of course he did, how could Steve have been so stupid? He'd probably always known how Steve felt, and just let him run in circles so he could work it out of his system.

"I can." Steve nodded solemnly, because he could do anything if it meant keeping Tony in his life. He couldn't help adding, with bitter humor, "I've ignored it this long, haven't I?"

The emotion that flickered across Tony's face couldn't have been anything but hurt, deep hurt, clearer than Steve had ever seen from him, before he jerked his chin up and grit his teeth. For a moment, Steve couldn't understand why Tonywould have any reason to feel hurt by his comment, until it clicked and he almost fell out of his chair moving closer to Tony's side.

"No, Tony, I meant I ignored _my _feelings, not yours, I would never—" He stopped himself short, because honestly, they were talking in circles when Steve really only needed to know one thing.

So he leaned over Tony's bedside and kissed him.

Steve didn't know what he expected. Hesitation, unwillingness, possibly even outright resistance, something along those lines. The kiss was only supposed to be a chaste move to clarify his intentions, not an attempt to take something Tony wasn't offering.

But, oh. Tony was offering. Hell, Tony was _taking, _was surging against Steve's mouth like a wave and opening up with a desperation Steve hadn't expected, hadn't even thought to hope for. Tony wrapped his non-IV arm around Steve's neck, clasped his other hand to Steve's cheek and hauled Steve into the cot with him. Tony arched upwards and Steve ground down to meet him, fitting their bodies together like having space between them might physically hurt. Steve could feel the heat of Tony's skin through both their clothes as he straddled him, and it was a bedroom kiss, no questions about it, chaste innocence traded for heady, fervent desire. Steve had no trouble falling and would've gladly lost himself to it, had Tony's monitor not gone off.

Steve flinched at the insistent sound, an alarm in his head of _stupid stupid stupid, _and, already admittedly a little panicked, he jerked back and demanded quickly, "Are you hurt, what did I—?"

"Just the heart rate." Tony huffed a laugh, looking far more wrecked by the kiss than was entirely fair to Steve. "Wild guess, mine just had a nice spike."

"Nice?"

"_Very _nice," Tony purred, hauling him back in with a hand in his hair.

"So you—?" Steve tried to speak, but the words slipped between their lips until he was able to bring himself to part again. Tony made a whining noise Steve wouldn't have heard if he'd been any farther away than he was, and he couldn't resist another quick peck before asking, "You meant it?"

"We don't need to clarify if you don't want, it's early obviously, to go around saying things like—"

"I love you."

"Like—" Tony stuttered, recovered quickly, "Like that, yeah. I know I can be a lot to handle, particularly romantically if the past is anything to learn from, but I can manage it, y'know? Tone it down, all that jazz—"

"That wasn't me filling in the blank," Steve corrected him, because now that his façade had been cracked, it was all pouring out. He could feel it coming on and dragging him under like a riptide, but there was too much of it to stop and he didn't try. "That was me, telling you, that I'm in love with you. That I've _been _in love with you. That I need you in my life and if keeping you as a friend meant forgoing this then I was prepared to, but that doesn't mean I ever wanted to. I want this. I want you, all of you. I don't need you toned down. I've loved you—full-force, too-much you—for years."

"Well." Tony tipped his chin up, licked his lips. "I may be an oblivious idiot, but at least I'm in good company, then."

Steve kissed him eagerly, not yet over the rush of elation at the idea that he simply _could, _humming his pleased agreement.

"Meant it. All of it," Tony murmured at last, not quite stopping the kiss to respond, simply slipping the words in the spaces between. It was a long moment before he pulled away to grin. "Does this mean I can keep calling you baby?"

"It does if you'll let me take you on a date," Steve bargained with a smile.

"I forgot, you have _morals." _Tony gave a sigh of mock disappointment.

"I suppose if it's hardship, we could just scrap the whole idea," Steve teased.

"Nah." Tony smiled, wide and soft, the same look in his eyes as when Steve had promised he'd stay. "Not a chance, baby."


End file.
